Nimbus Cloud Attack

A Jet SwiftAir 25k flew it's usual intercontinental route at noon through a bright red sky over the yellowish water below.

The flight lasts 12 hours. The flights used to be both long and miserably bumpy, with sedatives and alcohol being mandatory for every passenger to be able to put up with it. But now, every plane is outfitted with the latest, greatest, patented SoftRide Hydrolayer that keeps the inside from feeling any turbulence on the outside. The great thing about them is that no matter how turbulent the weather is, you won't feel a thing. The terrible thing about them is that you won't know the plane has crashed until you hit the water. And the water is filled with carnivorous tentacle monsters. On the other hand, passenger panic pre-digestion by tentacle monsters is down 85%.

Knowing this, I had been watching the wings of the vessel shake through the window with growing dread.

I decided to go to the front cabin to speak to the pilot. A piece of our conversation was recovered from the black box of the plane. I have transcribed it here. Then I'll continue my part in the story.  


...."Oh, obviously there’s nothing wrong with the copilot."

"But he’s fallen asleep"

"That doesn’t mean that he’s not a good pilot. You should see him when he’s awake!"

"He can’t really pilot when he’s asleep though."

"He’s not even awake to defend himself. Way to kick a man while he’s down."

"Well, who’s flying the plane?"

"The computer is flying the plane, obviously. Do you want to insult it, too?"

"I guess not, but I don’t see the point of you two being here if the computer can do all the flying."

"You wouldn’t understand. It’s all very complex."

"Try to explain a little of it to me. Start by telling me what you’re doing right now."

"Well right now, I’m chatting with you and wasting by time."

"Before you started doing that."

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. I was preparing dinner. Do you think that pilots survive on nothing but jet fuel?"

"No...I just-"

"You didn’t give any consideration to our feelings, did you?"

The copilot jerked awake with a start.

"What’s this?" He said, in a groggy but vaguely irritated voice.

"This little man has come into the cockpit and started complaining about the turbulance. As if we can do anything about it," said the irate pilot.

"I just wanted to know", I said timidly, "if maybe there wasn’t a good reason for it." 

"Do you mean to imply? That the turbulence of this aircraft was caused by the pilot and I?"

I looked down at the floor. “Well- “

“Do you think that the pilot and I are just up here, playing with the controls like toddlers? Do you have any idea what professionalism-"

The pilot cut off his friend. “We are doing just fine, and the turbulence is probably normal. The computer is doing the flying, I’ve got carrots to chop, and now my copilot is going to be tired and grumpy for his shift. What if there were an emergency?”

The copilot, who had been cut off mid-sentence, turned it on the pilot. 

“Well what if there were an emergency? You would have been cooking dinner. Again! Instead of looking at the controls.”

“Excuse me- “ I ventured

“Well you’re not doing much good, you were asleep.” The pilot answered back.

“I’m just going to-”

“At least I was still at my post while you were chopping away at your damned carrots. You know I hate carrots. They don’t belong with radishes, I‘ve told you a million times!”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll just -”

“And I’ve told you a million times, if you don’t like it, then don’t eat it!”

“I’ll just be right over here.”

“Well it’s not like I have a choice, do I? We have a very well-laid-out chore list, and if you aren’t going to abide by it then I won’t be scrubbing the toilets any more!”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you! You only have to clean them once a week! Cleaning your office space is like wiping up after a two year old!”

I had edged my way over to the controls and examined them. There wasn’t anything really wrong with what was going on. Of course, I didn’t really know what I was looking for. There were a million dials and knobs and readouts, and they all seemed to be doing different things. What I wanted to find was a dial that was flickering, or an arrow that was spinning back and forth, or quivering or something. Something wrong. Causing turbulence. Nothing. But it was hard to see because of the dim lighting of the cabin. Of course there was no switch for the lights because they're automatic, and during daylight hours the lights remain off, and during nighttime they turn on, depending on how much ambient light there is. But the more I stared at the controls, the darker it seemed to get in the cabin. Finally, the electric lights kicked in. “Thanks.” I muttered to no one in particular.

But then I remembered that the lights were automatic.

And that it was noon.

The voices of the pilot and co-pilot stopped almost as soon as the thought ran through my head. Together, we peered through the tiny captains window through the five inch thick glass and into the world outside.

There was nothing but blackness.

Terrible, all consuming blackness of a terrible sentient cumulonimbus cloud rushing towards us at terrifying terrible speed.

TACBOATSCCRTUATTS, for short.

It makes a lot more sense in the native language of the planet Baal.

Which is where we were.

(You came in during the middle of the conversation. But now you know.)

The turbulence beforehand must have been caused by the small whisps that precede a nimbus attack. They spin around the rotor blades, wreaking small bits of havoc and getting into the engine. Most pilots who see one coming know to avoid them, because alone they can take down a ship.

The pilot took off his hat and placed it over his chest. Like a man at a funeral.

“No plane has ever survived.” He said, in an awed voice.

“No survivors have ever survived either.” Answered the copilot.

I backed out of the cabin.

(Baal is a planet with many strange phenomena. Among them is the Nimbus cloud. The cloud itself isn’t sentient. Or maybe it is- it’s kind of a mass conciousness type of thing. It doesn’t speak or communicate in any way. It just broods. See, on this planet, the water cycle flows through a series of cyclical pathways, the same way that it would anywhere else, but here, it works through negative energy. Water absorbs negative energy from the surrounding life on: The Ruthless United World of Baal, on where there is, believe it or not, a lot of negative energy. Then, when it has gotten enough so that its polarity is opposite that of its more positive brethren, it levitates upwards into clouds. When enough of the cloud gets together into a massive cluster of millions and billions of particles of negative energy, then it lashes out at everything that comes near it, and everything above and below it, until it is out of energy.)

I ran to the back of the plane and found my pack and threw it on my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” asked my seatmate

He had been a really nice man.

He had given me a stick of gum.

I didn’t want to upset him.

“Oh, I just thought I would go for a walk. Stretch my legs.”

The bewildered look he gave me suggested that he didn't think I was the kind of person you wanted to pursue conversation with.

So I apologized, though I’m still not sure what for,

and I went to find a way out.

Still Have Writer's Block: Creation Myth

When the world began, it was just a spinning ball of rock. And then slowly the rock was broken and became dirt, and then, over time, water rained down from the skies and filled the seas, and then lightning struck the oceans, and winds blew over the soil, and when these things came together, Mother nature came alive and saw that the planet was a lonely place. So, mother nature crafted every living thing, one by one. She started with the invisible things. Next were the plants. Then were the tiny insects, then were the fish, then the amphibians and the reptiles, then the mammals, then the birds. One by one, she breathed life into each new creation. But still she saw that the animals were lonely. So she crafted her last child, humanity. When she breathed life into them, though, they looked up to her and spoke. Not only did they speak, but they began to ask her questions.

“Where did we come from?” they asked. “I made you.” She replied.

“Who made you before you made us? Where did you come from?” They asked.

“No one made me. I came from the earth, and I am the earth.” she said

But some of the people refused to accept this answer, and said to each other, “Let us find out the truth of this. If we were to be killed, mother nature would come out to find who had done it and punish them. If we kill mother nature, then surely her creator will come out to find who has done it and punish us. This will surely be the end of us, but we will know who the creator really is.” So they set out to kill mother nature.

Because she had said that she was made of the earth, they filled the earth with poisons. And when she fled to the oceans, they filled the water with poison. And when she fled to the sky, they filled the air with poison. The other people tried to stop them, but it was no use, because their soil, their water and their air had already been poisoned. Nothing could live any more. Finally, when every last living thing had been destroyed except for humanity, mother nature came down to them and spoke. “I breathed life into each bring, but I saw that the animals were lonely, and so I crafted my last child, humanity. Now you have killed every living thing, one by one. First were the birds, then the mammals, then the amphibians and the reptiles, then were the fish, then the tiny insects, and then the plants, and last were the invisible things. Now they are all dead, and you will answer for these crimes.”

But the people were angry because they still did not have the answer that they had looked for.

“Who made you?” They asked. “Where did you come from?

She replied as she had before. “No one made me. I came from the earth, and I am the earth.”

So they asked, “What will kill you? We want to know who will come forth to take revenge when you have been killed.”

And mother nature understood the desire of her children to know this answer, so she said, “I will die when there can be no more living things on the earth. If you kill everything and leave only one man behind, and him with no offspring to carry on, then I will die, and it is possible that my maker may come forth to take revenge on that last man.”

And so the people turned to each other and killed each other until only one man stood on the surface of the earth, and mother nature died.

And as the man looked out over the empty land, oblivion stepped forth to claim him, in revenge for what the people had done.

Then oblivion left the planet behind, and the world was a spinning ball of rock. And then slowly the rock was broken and became dirt, and then over time, water rained down from the skies and filled the seas, and then lightning struck the oceans and winds blew over the soil, and when these things came together, mother nature came alive again.

Writer's Block

Creativity Games.net will produce between 1 and 8 random words for you. I tried to make each set into a narrative, until I hit my word count for the day.

Panther

Shopping

Rhythm

Artillery

Foundation

Dragon

Altar

Oven 

The panther slid sinuously through the air ducts of the shopping mall, its footfalls moving in rhythm with the artillery fire below. No one would hear it over that noise. Downstairs in the basement, a dragon waited, curled into a ball between the oven and the foundation. As soon as the people gave up their search for the both of them, their race to the altar would begin.  

The vibrations from the firing cannons shook them both, but they waited silently. 

Laser

Pocket

Laundry

Stain

Cane 

Eagle

Pancake

Trapeze

And here I am in the middle of the crowd with a laser in my pocket, ready to open fire. How the hell did it come to this? I eat breakfast like everyone else, I do my grocery shopping like everyone else, I do my laundry like everyone else. But I have this dark stain on my conscience. This hair shirt. This cane that constantly beats at my memory, punishing me. But here I am, and now I have to make my move. I am just one of the crowd, watching the show. The trapeze artists are performing their tumbling act, but when they leave, and the man with the Eagle takes the stage, I can finally take him out. Too bad it will leave the circus, and everything within a 1 mile radius, as flat as a pancake. 

Cellar 

Energy

Froth

Arm
Region

Tour

Ladder

Generator

She barely has the energy to move anymore. Trapped at the bottom of a ladder. What a stupid way to die, alone in the bottom of a cellar. She had heard once that the most beautiful phrase in the english language was, ‘Cellar Door’. What a load of bullshit. When you try to make either arm move, but they won’t, and the effort makes you froth at the mouth and you want to scream, but you’ll never be able to yell loud enough for anyone to hear, 'cellar door' is a cruel taunt that repeats itself in your head like a nursery rhyme. It’s not use. This is a deserted region. And outside, she can hear the generator dying. 

Observation

Carrot

Rebel

Orchestra

Perfume

Messenger

Kiss

Stamina

I’m a deck hand on the USS Observation, or so I have named it. I am also the captain, the first mate, and the cabin boy. I am the orchestra, the audience, the rebel, the opposition, and the government. I am both the carrot and the stick. I ride along the waves, smelling the sweet perfume of salt as the water lands on my brow, gentle as a kiss. I have no stamina anymore, to move. All the work of the ship remains undone, and I curse myself for my laziness. I shall  send the messenger to the captain right away, to inform him that I suspect the first mate is guilty of malingering. 

Coffee Snobs of the Future

“Oh Earth, I love it there. It’s so peaceful and wide open, and just silent.”

“My life support system kept buzzing. I hate the smell of the things.”

“Oh, but it’s so beautiful! And I heard Rebecca once found a piece of silverware, and they let her keep it! You never know, that might be worth something someday.”

“She’ll probably be rich in a generation- or, her family will. I just saw a bunch of trees and some broken down buildings.”

“But that’s the paradise of the place. It’s just so- old!”

Eventually, Angela left. Tara shut the door behind her and allowed herself to grimace.

She hated being so damned cheerful all the time. Of course visiting Earth was a stupid idea. It was a dead planet that they had all decided to leave a hundred years ago. Why the hell would you go back? But it was something that was Done, because then you could say that you had been there. Angela was such a stupid cow sometimes. 

Trish went to pour herself another cup of coffee. Her leather shoes with the titanium (It’ll Never Break! Quality Guaranteed!) soles clicked against the marble floor. Marble. Everything was marble here. Impossible to believe that it had been expensive a hundred years ago. On this planet, it was the easiest thing in the world to get. But hers had been polished to a mirror shine that reflected her face back up to her. She sighed and wished she had people to really talk to. Someone to talk to that would actually listen. But there was no one except the automated coffee maker. They had bought a nice one before he left- one that he thought would be amusing. It had mechanical arms that moved from work station to work station, so that it looked like it was grinding the coffee, pouring the water,  and serving everything in a mug, all by (albeit metal, and mechanical) hand. 

She pressed the button and the ballet began. 

Its wide, sweeping gestures were very dramatic, but they always took up so much damned counter space. You couldn’t make breakfast and coffee at the same time. She would have to talk to a mechanic about that- if she ever got up the energy. There was just so much to do, she wasn’t sure when she would have time. 

A mechanical hand held out a mug.

She took it, and said, “Thank you,” without thinking about it. 

That was a stupid thing to do. You’re losing it. She thought to herself.

But then she shrugged and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of coffee and the hint of caffeine behind it.

Of course, it wasn’t real coffee- that was impossible to get until the coffee plant populations had been fully established, and with the way the climate fluctuated here, that was highly unlikely. Only half of the crops they’d brought over had been able to survive the transplantation process. And the ones that did grow didn’t yield much. It was all just brown lumps of waxy polymers that held caffeine in them for a (Edible Experience, Just Like the Real Thing!) taste and color similar to coffee. You even had to grind the beans to get it, if you wanted to pay extra for that. She did. 

It was the same food they had used when they crossed through space, she had been told. Though the technology wasn’t quite so advanced, and everything was those cheap ‘multi-vitamin calorie bars’ that stored forever and took up a square inch each. Now, even the poorest could afford a real flavor every once in awhile. 

Trish took another sip of coffee and leaned against the counter, looking out through her window at the surrounding forest.

If anything had taken off, it was the bamboo. Giant forests of it immediately covered the entire countryside, flourishing even in the mineral poor soil. Agricultural scientists were working on releasing the minerals stored in the hard rock formations, but had not succeeded yet. The bamboo was beating them by a mile, stretching its tiny roots into the hard sublayer only 6 inches below, and breaking it up. But it was a slow process, and she had to learn to love bamboo in the meantime. With its graceful arcs and leaves that called up images of stylized caligraphy, especially at night, when they were in silhouette. (A romantic forest at every turn! Buy a planter for your home!) 

She hated the bamboo. 

No matter how much poetry it had. You get tired of that kind of thing after awhile.

She’d seen pictures of oak trees and birch trees and sycamores and redwoods. Now THOSE were the kinds of trees you could sink your teeth into. The kind of tree with some meat to it. A real tree that you could climb, with big branches you could sit in. 

She wanted one, right in front of her, right now. 

“Would you like to order something?”

Her thoughts paused themselves momentarily. A screen had lit up in the room with her. It was the home computer, already linked to the external network. A friendly male voice had been programmed into it, and she hadn’t changed it. Now, with her husband gone, it was just strange to have a male speaking to her. 

“Computer. Go to settings, change voice type to female.”

There was a brief pause, and then a friendly female voice replied. 

“Change confirmed. Would you like to order something?” 

“No. I would not like to order something.”

“Diagnostics detect that you are unhappy. Maybe you would like to order a new product. Would you like to see a study on retail therapy?”

“No. Go to sleep, computer.”

“Shutting down.”

She hated it. The stupid computer turning on, and trying to convince her of things she didn’t want. It happened daily. Daily, she turned it down. And daily it got more insistent. A pushy salesperson who wouldn’t accept no for an answer. 

Spies on Vacation

There she is, distracting you from your own thoughts, that silk  dress too low for any decent woman to wear, that back, those twin tanned pillars stopping too soon where the folds of cloth touch her skin. 

There’s that obligatory walk to the bar, that obligatory drink, that obligatory small talk. You touch her elbow and escort her to the window. Of course the window, of curse the balcony, of course the beach. 

Everything has that soft glow of dim lighting and starlight and no one has anything really important to say, just that smooth undertone. You eye each other over the rims of your cups and murmur soft words until the night is over and it’s a polite time to leave together. 

She’s too perfect. Too much. Much too much. But there’s that something. That thing that draws you in. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but oh the places you’d put your hands...

And then your brain butts in, stubborn and pissed, Of course you have to have her. She’s got you hooked like some kind of trained monkey. You’re brain is eating up the endorphin jolt you get every time you look at her like it’s candy. You complete idiot. You’re hooked to her, slobbering after her like Pavlov’s dog next to a ringing cathedral. It’s all a government conspiracy, haven’t you heard of the Denver Airport? The president’s not the president, you know that! This woman isn’t here for you, she's here to disrupt the mission, but now you’re stuck aren’t you? Detox, quit cold turkey man. 

Nothing for it but to get out of there and hitch a ride in a tiny puddle jumper from your island to the next, hope and look for salvation in isolation. 

Because you’re sure as hell not going to find it in this pit of snakes with her dribbling poison onto you every chance she gets. Get out of there, man. Get focused. Get one of those tiny planes and don’t care who pilots it. 

End up with a big Jamaican man with dreadlocks as long as you are tall, eyes as red as blisters telling you it’s time to take off. Nothing but you and him and that smell of smoke. You figure fuck it and ask him for a blunt and he hands you one, tiny in his giant, dark hands like a golem holding a twig. You take it and inhale, sucking in the dark forgetfulness and thinking of drowning her in the smoke of your lungs. Get all of that poison away from your system. Drown her. You hold the smoke in until your vision turns pinpoint and then let it out as slowly as you can. Watching it smoke away, curling its finger at you as it floats inland. 

You look straight ahead as the pilot starts up the plane. He laughs at the look on your face, ’I'm good to fly man, no worries.’ he says, and then starts the plane. He’s got a pet moving around back there, he says. You can’t hear anything but you look back and see there are boxes stacked on top of the four empty seats. 

He's NOT good to fly, man. He's high as a kite and looking for quick cash. Going to fly around for awhile and he roofied that blunt and now you're gonna end right back where you started but now they know that you know and you'll be paralyzed and they'll get anything they want from you. No one ships boxes on planes this size but criminals, your information sold to the highest bidder and your body in the the deep blue sea. 

Then the smoke hits you and you don’t care any more. You look up and feel the sun and let it go. 

You open your eyes and it’s just you and the silent beach and the sound of the dreadlock man powering down the plane. You look behind you to see there’s a boa constrictor migrating its way across the boxes. Well now you know what the pet is. You climb out. He’s still looking for weed in his gear. You walk along the beach, nothing here but you and memories of her and that lingering feeling of missing something that you know will grow into a craving and then an all consuming hunger in a little while. Nothing to do but wait. You’re in withdrawals just your body doesn’t know it yet. 

Good luck with that, my corporeal form, I’m checking out for awhile and going to another plane while that takes place. Gonna become my own warm little center of the universe. My zen nature, my own private mediation palace. 

You are ravenous though- ‘Where’s food here?’ you turn and say to the pilot. Your voice too loud without the plane's engine. The scene too intimate. You wonder if he's going to rob you now. Or if he's working with her. Maybe he'll kill you. Shoot you and leave you to die on an island where no one will find your body but the seagulls. 

But the pilot looks up from his boxes. He's thrown two to the ground and is lighting another blunt to smoke before he flies again. ‘Fish and coconuts, man. You wanted a deserted island, this a deserted island. Real hippie nature feel good shit.’ 

Nothing for it, then. Fish and coconuts. You walk away down the beach. Fucking hippy. Rasta man watches you go for a second and then starts to get the engine going. You imagine him muttering, ‘Crazy fuckin white people,’ and why shouldn’t he? You’ve used your vacation time to check yourself into a personal rehab on a deserted island to escape what you think might be a spy, based on no evidence but your own paranoia. You are fucking crazy. 

A Brief Look Into The Afterlife

...though the graveyards here would have some pretty interesting people in them, I'm sure. With five hundred years minimum entry fee, you'd better. I wonder if ghosts play poker with their years. Playing poker with time. 

Five hundred year minimum bet. Four hundred year raise. I see your four hundred and raise you fifty. Fold. I win. Nine hundred and fifty years gone? Nine hundred and fifty in servitude? It's a cruel world and it's a cruel afterlife, buddy... 

So our hero arrives with nothing but the clothes on his back.  He has nothing to tell anyone, and wonders if this is a place where he was supposed to sell something. "Is that my job? Am I a salesman?" 

The inkling of an idea tickled the back of his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had the vague recollection that he was supposed to be here- that there was an important purpose for his visit, but he wasn't sure any more. He gripped his briefcase- had there been a briefcase there before? He wasn't sure, but he gripped it anyway- tightly, and strode in through the gate. He heard a rustle behind him and turned in time to see the gate swing shut with a click. 

Who had swung it shut? 

He was more and more uneasy about his purpose here. He still couldn't remember his exact job- it was important though. It was-

"Howdy!"

A disembodied voice floated over the gravestones. It had that strange echo that happens in open, silent spaces. 'Howdy' was probably the last thing a voice like that should be saying. Maybe some scary moaning, or, 'I'm coming for you'. But not Howdy.

A man in a brown business suit in a cowboy hat stepped out from behind one of the tallest of the headstones. "Howdy there partna!" he said enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically for our hero's taste. "WELCOME to Home On The Range!"

His attempt at a southern accent was terrible. 

Without waiting for an answer, he strode forward and wrapped an arm around our hero's shoulders. "This here is one FINE piece of property! Yessir, one fine place to settle down! You got all types! You got the mormons and the christians and the crazies and the kooks. You got yer atheists and yer- whatchallem'...aaagnastics, and yer smart fellas and yer dumb ones. There's men, women, brunettes, blondes- though I'm partial to a blonde haired, blue eyed lady misself, you got yer straights and yer homasexials. It's no city, but it's a hell of a place. Yessir, a helluva place." 

The arm around his shoulders guided him through the yard, while the man gestured with his free arm to the stones one either side. He smiled and winked and tucked one thumb under the suspenders that were underneath of the brown coat. Our hero looked and noticed that they were rainbow colored. He deeply questioned the sanity of this man, but was also very aware of the fact that he being held firmly under his sizable arm.         

The man continued, "Well, I imagine you'll want to meet some o the folks, they're not too bad atall, nosir, not too bad atall. Just about the most decent and God fearin' folks you could hope to meet!"

Our hero ventured a question, hesitantly, "I thought- I thought you said that there were agnostics and atheists in here."

The man just smiled wider, "Well aha, we got ourselves a Sherlock Holmes! Yessir, it seems I did say that. Well, they're decent folks anyways. I'd just as soon be friends with a possum as friends with a person, as they say!"

He was sure no one had ever ever said that. 

Scary Fish and How I Arrived At Them

Okay, so what other strange sea creatures exist that would terrify me?

The black dragon fish which produces a light that only it can see. And I think it impales its prey on its teeth. I might be mixing up two different kinds of eels. But that's scary, right? Alone- in the dark- you can't see it but it can see you?   

I guess that makes sense...

My god this is lame. I'm going to talk about scary fish and listen to crappy rock? Really? Ooooh, scary fish! Start taking things less seriously.

But....but....scary fish!!

It's been DONE. Read some damn finding nemo or something.

BUT I HAVENT DONE IT!

Okay, okay, what else do you have?

Well...what about the gremlin shark whose jaw can extend forward?

Predator.

Well what about the northern skygazer?

Lame. It's a fish that lives in the sand. No one is afraid of that.

Well what about...I don't know...giant squid...

Everyone ever. 500 years ago. 

Okay, well, what ideas do you have, mister fancy pants?

What if they're sentient? Not everything has to be out to kill you, obviously.

Well, if it's not then is your story going to be about everyone fucking getting along and holding hands, or is it going to be about star crossed lovers with fins? I mean, really. You've got love and you've got hate.

Well, what about a common mission?

What about we're in league with the fish people to eradicate those acidic fungi things from earlier?

Yay. We're teaming up against the weeds.

Dude, seriously, fuck you brain.

Come up with better ideas and I won't mock them.

Step 1. Make your internet radio turn off black sabbath. I mean really? Of course all your ideas are about sci-fi from the 80's.

This is a good song, damn you!

Okay, so we're diving in our exploratory submarine vessel on our way to establish the mineral content of the ocean floor. 


No sentient life has been detected, everything says that this is a mineral planet covered in water. You've done this a million times before, so you're just going through the motions and pressing the right buttons and thinking about what you're going to do with your vacation time. You’re newer to this planet, but other than the venemous fish, there’s nothing to worry about in the water. People have been mapping this area for the last seven years. You’re just continuing their work.

You’re stopped and cut the engines, hovering over the top of a rock shelf that drops off significantly somewhere ahead of you. Not relishing the deep dive into that pit, but that will require the deeper range vessel, and right now you’re just in the shitty shallows boat: economic on fuel but they feel like they’re made out of tinfoil by a five year old. There’s not even a full quarter inch of steel between you and the cold, deadly stuff outside. Yeah, the manual says it’s titanium and you’re safe, but there’s nothing like the feel of five solid inches of metal all around you and glass as thick as your head. 

You’re scanning and waiting on the computer to finish analyzing the mineral content. Nothing valuable here but some cheap iron ore you could probably get on any planet. You look out the window at the floor outside. Nothing special. Well, nothing but the floating bits of mineral in the water. It swirls in patterns underneath of your engines, shifting around and then settling.

But then you realize it’s not settling. It’s sliding. The entire floor underneath of you is sliding away without making a sound. 

That strange feeling you get when you're in a car sitting still and another car is moving forward- that feeling that you're falling backwards- washes over you, and you feel yourself getting nauseous. It just keeps sliding, moving forward. You worry if you're going to get sucked in the current after it. The engines on these shitty tugboats WILL not save you. It just keeps sliding away like a giant moving carpet made of solid rock. There's no sound. There's nothing. Just the visual. 

All of a sudden, it ends, and there is nothing but the ocean floor underneath of you again. Exactly where it was, just a little further down, underneath of the layer you were just looking at. Naked rock and nothing else. You move your light to try to catch where whatever moved disappeared to, but there's nothing but darkness staring back at you.

"Station 1, did you get that?"

"Get what?"

"Were you watching the camera?"

"...yeah."

He was probably playing some stupid game on his tablet. 

"Rewind and review the last thirty seconds of video." Why did they even put solitaire on a fucking communicator watch?

"Roger"

There is a long pause while you try to pierce the wall of blackness in front of you. All of a sudden it's pregnant with a thousand threats. Lists of other off-world incidents run through your head. The magnetic pits of Cercon that sucked in and crushed every vessel that came too close. The freak whirlpools of Hera 12. Sudden underwater mudslides in at least a dozen oceans that you know of, burying everyone alive...

The intercom crackles on. "Whoa. I see it, Explorer 18."

"What do you think it is?"

"No idea. Report to the surface until we know what's going on."

You breathe out a sigh of relief. It's good to get out of there. Whatever it was, it's gone. You can figure it out later. The data people up in November 91 will know how to search and identify that kind of thing.

The engine rumbles under you as you cut through the water, making your way back to your warm, dry bunk, and leaving the ocean behind.

From the darkness rumbles a low frequency vibration. Satellite November 91 interprets it as tectonic movement and informs station 1 that it can be ignored safely.

              (So that's not too bad, right?

              Well, I'm sure we could do worse.)

During mating season the stonefish, identified as one of the most venomous fish in the galaxy, use the risidual electromagnetic energy of the local stone on their home planet to power a low level of light for a bioluminescent mating display. However, with the advent of space exploration and the arrival of an planet mapping crews, they began to extract electromagnetic energy from every piece of technology available, and consume it, using it to power a much more brilliant display and attract many more mates. Because of the plentitude of electromagnetic energy available closer to exploratory control centers, more stonefish were mated and bred in that area, and their population grew exponentially within their vicinity. 

The most dangerous places on the planet became those bases. Since the fish drain the power from the bases, or more specifically, from the generators that supplied those bases, there were frequent mechanical problems and malfunctions during those time periods due to loss of power. In the event of a breach, which was frequent, especially during the first five years, though the water was shallow near the control centers, there were few survivors. 

Eventually, all door and hull locks had to become manual, and valuable space became occupied by the large generators, which were then housed inside of the control space, as far away from the exterior of the base as possible. In this way, the stone fish were discouraged from mating near the bases, though their populations remained high as a result of residual electromagnetic radiation from standard equipment. After this adaptation was made, mortality was significantly lowered, but crew numbers had to be lowered to just three or four people instead of the usual complement of nine because of lack of workspace. The noise of the generators also made communication difficult, and the majority of conversation, especially in the central control area in the center of the base, had to be done by radio communications, while personnel were required to wear ear protection at all times.

Basically, the already shitty job of exploring and mapping an entire planet became shittier. Workspace and crews got smaller, but the workload became the same, and the deadlines got shorter, if anything. 

And now I'm on my way back to that after seeing whatever the hell it was that I just saw. It's not much, but seeing your dead planet move is enough to make you wish for whatever home you have. Even if it's a 3x7 bunk space and a shitty internet connection.